Near death experiences

I have found I live the moments of my life between my narrow escapes with death. It seems I am always knocking on death's door. I've been abandoned in the wilderness and almost froze and drowned and worse; I almost choked to death on a banana; there was the time when I was dropped on my head on the kitchen floor. My most recent brush with death was this past weekend (you probably wonder how I know all this terminology; I watch a lot of movies and I'm a fairly quick learner. Look at me operating my own blog, after all!). It started last Friday. I'd caught a cold. It was Biggun's fault; she was being a negligent caretaker. It's been cold and rainy all my life so far but Biggun did not put the heat lamp on my terrarium once I was moved over. I guess she thought I'd stay warm enough in the newspaper shavings and bits o' cloth. Nope. I'm small! I don't even weigh an ounce. I don't create nearly enough body heat to keep myself warm when I sleep, thus, my temperature drops alarmingly. Add the damp to this situation and SQUEAK! I got a cold. I probably would have been OK, but that night, while drinking my milk before bedtime, I aspirated. It came out my nose and I coughed and spluttered. Then, Ms. Negligent Caretaker was gone all the next day and I was left alone in my cold home. So, by Sunday, my breathing was raspy and I was in poor condition. Finally, when I stiffened up and started wheezing, she thought maybe she should take me to the vet. And she did. You should have seen the waterworks; I'm suprised she didn't drown me in her tears. Come to think of it, I make her cry all the time. Kee kee kee. Anyhow. The vet told her I had pneumonia and that there wasn't much of a chance of my survival because I'm so small.
I felt awful. I was too hot and I was too cold and I wanted to sleep but I couldn't curl up because I couldn't breathe. It was kind of scary, really. Biggun kept crying and apologizing and telling me she loves me. I don't actually remember much, but I found out later that she took two days off work to hold me. She wound up holding me for three days straight because the kind doctor had told her that my only chance lay in keeping me at or above 80 degrees and making sure I ate. Well, she held me in her hands constantly and she gave me a few drops of milk every hour. Also, the nice doctor gave me some medicine that tastes like bananas. Well, it's supposed to, though, really, it doesn't. I really liked it when I was sick. And somehow, between the constant warmth of her hands (she stayed up nearly through the night each night and when she had to sleep, she put me in a box and stuck it next to her while she dozed!), the hourly feedings and the medication, I survived. Biggun told me I was tough and a fighter every time I'd get a little better. I just kept breathing, but if she wants to think I'm some sort of macho guy, I'm not going to tell her otherwise. Anyhow, on Tuesday, I opened my eyes. She says my eyes were shut from Sunday on and they would drift open from time to time, all glazed over. I don't remember that. She said I was limp and my legs didn't work and that she thought every second was my last and that she held me mostly because she didn't want me to die alone. I don't remember that, either, but thanks for the vote of confidence, Oh Negligent One! Geez. And I found out my supposed-banana-flavored medicine is actually quite horrible and I hate it! Yet she still forces it down my throat! Ick!

I have a sweet setup now. I'm in the sun room. It's soooo warm in here. I have a heat lamp always pointed at my hiding box, so, really, I have a little sauna. She picks me dandelions and gives me walnuts and holds me all the time. She says she's really happy I survived. Like I said, I just kept breathing. I've apparently left death's door again and am now merely in the neighborhood and it looks like there's a whole wide world out there just waiting for me to scamper through.